Snuff

‘Let me tell you how this is going to be,’ said Sam Vimes, as urgent sounds suddenly filled the corridor. He leaned over the body spreadeagled on the floor. ‘You will be humanely handcuffed for the rest of this voyage, and you will be watched carefully by my valet Willikins, who, apart from making a really good cocktail, is also not burdened by being a policeman.’ He squeezed a little harder and went on in a conversational tone, ‘Every now and again I have to sack a decent copper for police brutality, and I do sack them, you may be sure of that, for doing what the average member of the public might do if they were brave enough and if they had seen the dying child, or the remains of the old woman. They would do it to restore in their mind the balance of terror.’ Vimes squeezed again. ‘Often the law treats them gently, if it worries about them at all, but a copper, now, he’s a lawman – certainly if he works for me – and that means his job stops at the arrest, Mister Stratford. So what’s stopping me from squeezing the life out of a murderer who has broken into the room he thought would hold my little boy, with, oh dear me, such a lot of little knives? Why will I squeeze him only to unconsciousness, while despising myself for every fragment of breath I begrudge him? I’ll tell you, mister, that what stands between you and sudden death right now is the law you don’t acknowledge. And now I’m going to let you go, just in case you die on me, and I couldn’t have that. However, I suggest you don’t try and make a run for it, because Willikins is not bound by the same covenant as I am, and he is also quite merciless and very fond of Young Sam, who’s sleeping with his mother, I’m glad to say. Understand? You picked the single room, didn’t you, where the little boy would be. It’s lucky for you that I’m a bastard, Mister Stratford, because if you’d broken into the stateroom, where my wife, although I never dare tell her so, is snoring at least as loud as any man, you would have found that she has at her command a considerable amount of weaponry and, knowing the temper of the Ramkins, she would have quite probably done things to you that would make Willikins say, “Whoa, that’s going a bit too far.” What they have they keep, Mister Stratford.’

Vimes momentarily changed his grip. ‘And you must think I’m a bloody fool. Some bloke they reckoned was a great thinker once said, “Know yourself.” Well, I know myself, Mister Stratford, I’m ashamed to say, right down to the depths, and because of that I know you, like I know my own face in the shaving mirror. You’re just a bully who found it easier and easier and decided that everybody else wasn’t really a real person, not like you, and when you know that, there’s no crime too big, is there? No crime you won’t do. You might reflect that, while you’re going to hang, I’m quite certain that Lord Rust, your boss, will in all probability walk free. Did you really think he’d protect you?’

The prostrate Stratford mumbled something.

‘Sorry, sir, didn’t quite catch that?’

‘King’s evidence!’ Stratford blurted out.

Vimes shook his head, even if Stratford couldn’t see it. ‘Mister Stratford, you’re going to hang, whatever you say. I’m not going to bargain with you. You must surely realize that you have nothing to bargain with. It’s that simple.’

On the floor Stratford growled, ‘Damn him! I’ll tell you anyway! I hate the smarmy bugger! What do you want me to say?’

It was a good job that he couldn’t see Vimes’s face, and Vimes merely said, ‘However, I’m sure that Lord Vetinari will be very happy to hear anything that you have to say, sir. He’s of a mercurial nature and I’m sure there is hanging or hanging.’

Slumped on the floor and wheezing, Stratford said, ‘Everyone had that bloody cocktail, I saw them! You had three, and everybody says you’re a lush!’

There was laughter as the door came open, letting in a little light. ‘His grace had what you might call the Virgin Sam Vimes,’ said Willikins, ‘no offence meant to the commander: ginger and chilli, a dash of cucumber juice and a lot of coconut milk.’

‘And very tasty,’ said Vimes. ‘Take him away, Willikins, will you, and if he tries anything you know what to do … you were born knowing what to do.’

For a moment Willikins touched his forelock and then said, ‘Thank you, commander, I appreciate the compliment.’

And Sam Vimes finished his holiday.

Of course it couldn’t be entirely fun, not with the clacks, not with people sending messages like, ‘I don’t want to bother you, but this will only take a moment of your time …’

A great many people didn’t want to bother Sam Vimes, but with a great effort of will they somehow managed to overcome their distaste and do so nevertheless. One of them, and this message did not contain an apology of any sort, came from Havelock, Lord Vetinari, and read, ‘We will talk about this.’